


Hair of the Dog

by fancyboots



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bar Room Brawl, Betrayal, Canifis, Confrontations, Drinking, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Morytania, Myreque, Past Character Death, Post-Canon, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Reconciliation, Regret, Resentment, Reunions, River of Blood, Self-Hatred, Survivor Guilt, Werewolf, can't believe you got yourself banned from the only bar in town, for both characters and myself LOL, i need more sleep, not really but just a smidgen, post-River of Blood, roavar has no chill, this fic was written a while back just edited a bit before posting here, veliaf has no chill, why am I awake at this hour again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyboots/pseuds/fancyboots
Summary: Taking place some time after River of Blood. Edith (OC adventurer) and Ivan plan something resembling a reunion at the Hair of the Dog tavern in Canifis. The remnants of the Myreque are pretty dismal, and not all members are happy to see one another.Brokering peace between Misthalin and Morytania doesn't look so difficult in comparison.





	Hair of the Dog

The tavern was dark. Gloomily lit with a few dusty lanterns, their candles shrinking to stubs and dying in the late evening. The air inside was stale, with the smell of old beer and pipe smoke drifting around.

Broken glass dusted the floorboards in some places, left behind as remnants of the frequent brawls. Roavar was mindful to clean the blood up, at the very least. ‘ _Can’t be good for business, now that we’re getting more Misthalin folk through_ ,’ he told Edith when she had brought it up.

The Hair of the Dog tavern was an ageing piece of work. Mould forming in the corners of the roof, edged on by the moist air of Morytania. Cracks in the windows, leaking pipes, splintered chairs all combined for an aesthetic that matched every other building in the town of Canifis.

Ivan stared at the pickled brain resting in a jar several paces away from their table. He was resting his head on his hand, his eyes lost deep in thought. Edith was reading a letter containing reports from Aeonisig. She would forward it to King Roald the next day.

There wasn’t anything particularly new contained in it. Just updates on the juvinate reversal plan, blood volunteering stations and some reshaping of the city structure. A number of citizens had formed an agricultural body, with the aim to establish tangible farming in the Morytanian lands. It would alleviate some dependence on western imports.

‘It’s just a brain Ivan,’ she mumbled, still focused on the letter.

‘I know. But…it just seems like it’s staring at me.’

Edith glanced up from the letter and looked at Ivan, rather unimpressed.

‘I’m serious, it does!’ he exclaimed.

‘Don’t lose your head about it, pickled brains typically have that effect on people.’

‘What made you the expert?’

Suddenly the door of the tavern swung open and cold air whipped inside. A tall, weathered man walked in, shrugging the hood from his head. He began to scan the tables and chairs of the tavern.

‘Veliaf’s here,’ Edith said to Ivan. She put the letter back in her travel bag and the young priest turned around in his chair to look behind.

The old man’s eyes fell on the pair, seated in the back corner. Veliaf loosened the collar of his cloak now that he was indoors. He signalled to Roavar for a drink, and began walking to Edith and Ivan’s table. As he made his way across the tavern, he looked around the place with a natural suspicion. A habit picked up from years of evasion.

‘Well met,’ he said, pulling up a chair and joining them at the table. Roavar arrived with three flagons of beer, placing them on the table. Veliaf waved Edith down when she offered to pay.

‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘Thank you, Veliaf. But please don’t start thinking in this fashion. You do not owe us a debt.’

He shuffled around in the chair trying to get comfortable, then began drinking his beer.

‘I turned you away and abandoned my few remaining friends when I believed all was lost. I allowed myself to fall into despair, when instead I should’ve been getting my senses together to help you.’

He took a long drink from the flagon before resting it down.

‘Neither of you were as quick to give up hope. And for that reason, the people of Morytania have been liberated.’

Ivan was sipping from his flagon less eagerly. He turned to speak to his former leader.

‘Veliaf, we couldn’t have made it as far as we did without you. This was as much your accomplishment as anyone’s. I wouldn’t even be alive without your help.’

Ivan’s eyes dropped slightly, letting their conversation fall quiet.

Edith felt her head drop a bit lower too, the cause for the sudden silence becoming apparent. The loss was still a recent wound for them all, but Ivan had felt the death of Drezel more than anyone else. The young priest had been residing alone in Paterdomus now, save for a few Saradominist followers that arrived on pilgrimage from Varrock every so often. He had not recovered well since the absence of his mentor.

Veliaf’s eyes were heavy as he looked towards Ivan. The years spent with the boy had formed something of a bond between them, and it pained him to see the youth mourning lost friends.

‘He didn’t have to die. None of them did.’ Veliaf drank heavily from the flagon.

Edith sensed where he was headed.

‘We can’t prevent every loss in a war Veliaf,’

‘We all know what led to the Myreque’s downfall. What killed Drezel.’ He replied.

‘ _Drakan_ led to the Myreque’s collapse. And the creature that killed our friend is destroyed.’

‘Don’t you dare try to defend him…’ Veliaf said, restraining back anger.

At that moment the tavern’s door was pushed open. Ceasing their talk, Edith looked over towards the freakishly tall figure emerging from the cold entrance. As Veliaf began to look in the same direction, Edith pulled the flagon of beer from his hand and placed it on the table.

‘You wouldn’t have agreed to come if we told you earlier.’

‘What exactly is this?’ Veliaf turned to her, his eyes narrowing in fury.

‘Some much needed talking.’

‘He has Myreque blood on his hands, he’s delusional and he’s been seduced by Vanescula’s malice. The fool will receive no audience from me. _I’m leaving_.’

Veliaf was standing up at the table, prepared to walk out. Edith had stood up alongside him, holding a tight grip on his forearm and refusing to allow his exit.

‘Just give us ten minutes, then leave. This is your chance to tell him everything, as much as it is his.’

Veliaf’s eyes were defiant, but he had stopped struggling from Edith’s grasp. She felt terrible for luring him here, not fully informing him of the meeting’s purpose. But avoiding any confrontation would only spur his resentment to grow, like a wound left to fester. She had experienced the same feeling for a time, before Ivan spoke to her about it. She didn’t want to see Veliaf waste away, forever in mourning and unable to move on.

The tall man at the door approached their table in cautious strides, a little reluctant after noticing the third member seated with Edith and Ivan. He had lifted down his hood and his stark blue eyes stood out clearly in the shadowy ambience of the tavern. His expression was fearful, messily covered up with some humble affability.

‘Well met, Ivan, Edith…’

The middle-aged man was staring forward at the pickled brain on the table across from them, his face wrought in disdain. He had not regarded Safalaan upon his arrival.

‘…Veliaf.’

Veliaf gave no nod of reply like Ivan and Edith had. Safalaan waited a few seconds, a bit unsure of himself. He then pulled up a chair between Edith and Ivan, opposite from Veliaf.

Their new party member looked around the tavern uncomfortably, trying to avoid Veliaf’s glare. He felt the stab of silence worse than anyone. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Edith yet and recoiled at the thought of making small talk with her, so he turned to the amicable young priest.

‘Ivan, how are things…at Paterdomus?’

The boy took a careful drink from his flagon before speaking.

‘It’s not too bad lately. Just me by myself there a lot of the time…so it has been rather quiet.’ Ivan stopped at that, remembering the last significant encounter he’d had with Safalaan.

If anything, the silence now felt heavier. Safalaan bit down on his tongue and clenched his fist under the table. _Stupid. It was your fault, by your own hands. This is what you’ve done…_

Every mistake he had made would be lasting. Any hope of redemption he sought after was foolhardy at this point. He was a broken fragment of their old ally, and agreeing to join this meeting felt like yet another irrational decision he had made. Cured or not, he would never escape the monster he had been changed into. All he could do now …

‘…I’m - I’m just so sorry. For what I let happen. For what I did.’

Ivan looked to him sadly and Edith maintained an even disposition. Veliaf was unyielding, his stern face still set on avoiding eye contact.

‘I betrayed everything the Myreque stood for with my own reckless attempt at ending Morytania’s plight. My plan merely led to the death of our friends, and I can’t undo my mistakes now.’

Veliaf sighed impatiently and waved to Roavar for another drink.

Safalaan swallowed back the dryness, before continuing.

‘It was Edith who saved me. I didn’t deserve her loyalty. I had destroyed any friendship once held with my allies. But still, she refused to let me go. At the time…I hated her for it. For making me remember things. She tried relentlessly with my mother to break through to me, at the castle…’

Safalaan stopped, and lowered his head.

‘I guess I’m trying to say that…you have every right to blame me for what happened. I failed you as a leader, I failed everybody. It would not be misplaced of you to withhold any forgiveness. I don’t deserve it...’

Veliaf took a drink from his flagon, staring at it profusely.

‘I just wanted to apologise to you, for the hurt I’ve caused. I can’t escape the guilt, I’ll be spending the rest of my life trying to make amends. But I needed to tell you I was sorry.’

He looked up again at Veliaf, trying to work out how much he had been listening to during the talk. His former comrade was swaying a little, still looking down at the flagon.

‘…Veliaf?’

‘Cm’ere.’ He slapped his hand on the table sluggishly, indicating for Safalaan to lean closer.

He did so rather cautiously, expecting Veliaf to say something hushed under breath. For what reason, he didn’t know.

‘C’mon, wanna tell you sumthin…’

Safalaan looked to Edith for help. Edith was staring across at Veliaf, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

He moved in closer across the table. Veliaf put his hands on Safalaan’s shoulders, patting on one a few times as if he were greeting a long lost friend. The warm disposition came as a dramatic change, and the soft smile on Veliaf’s face was not something Safalaan had expected.

He tightened a grip on Safalaan’s collar, dragging him to stand up from his seat.

‘Veliaf, what – _HCK_ ’

Veliaf punched him hard in the face, letting him fly back across the table. With vigour, he launched himself over the table as well to find the fallen Myreque leader on the ground and began throwing right-left punches.

‘Stop, _stop!_ ’ Ivan shouted, frantic to end the fighting. He’d stood up from his seat, knocking over his chair, and ran over to the brawling men.

Edith had her face in her palm, rubbing her eyes. She sighed in frustration.

‘Going to get thrown out…’

Safalaan was passive at first, trying desperately to block Veliaf’s punches and unwillingly to fight him. When that didn’t work, and the coaxing from Veliaf took over, he found himself punching back. They rolled across the floor of the tavern, grunting angrily against hits, each trying to get the upper hand on the other. Safalaan’s inhuman resistance against Veliaf’s drunken rage made for an equal match.

Ivan hovered around them looking exasperated, hopelessly trying to pull the fight apart.

‘Edith, just…I don’t know! Zap them with a bind!’

‘Using what?’ she yelled above the noise of smashed bottles and broken chairs, ‘This was supposed to be a civilised reunion. I didn’t bring runes for binding!’

Suddenly a deep, menacing growl came from behind them, and she spun around.

Roavar was no longer at the bar counter. He had transformed, and a massive werewolf was now towering before her. Its teeth glistened sharp against the glow of the nearby lantern, and its body was a mass of tangled grey fur, standing upright. The manic eyes of the animal darted from her, over towards Veliaf and Safalaan. The pair were on their feet again and furiously locked in combat, faces bloodied and broken and stumbling slightly from the injuries.

The werewolf went for Veliaf first. He ran and launched towards the man, knocking him away from Safalaan and onto his back. Claws dug into his right arm and Veliaf grimaced, feeling the pain through his drunken stupor. The weak attempts to break away from Roavar were hopeless, his strength minimal compared to the werewolf’s innate power.

Having maimed Veliaf on the floor, Roavar turned to Safalaan. He stormed across to the man lying winded on the ground and dug claws into his left shoulder. Hoisting him up, he dragged Safalaan towards the tavern’s front door and threw him outside.

Edith pulled Ivan away.

‘I’m going to make sure he's fine, can you do the same with Veliaf?’

‘I’ll walk out with him…’ Ivan watched the werewolf Roavar stride over to Veliaf. Many of the other patrons seated around the place had also been observing the display, though with rather tired faces. Edith knew they were mostly residents of Canifis, very much accustomed to the way Roavar managed his premises.

Edith nodded promptly at Ivan then ran outside of the tavern to check on Safalaan. When she burst through the door, she found him lying on his back, grasping tightly onto his wounded shoulder. She walked over to help him up.

‘He wanted a fight and you gave it to him,’ she said, letting Safalaan put his weight on her. His height wasn’t making things any easier.

They started walking slowly in the direction of the tavern, intending to wait outside for the rest of their party.

‘To be frank, this evening couldn’t have turned out better,’ she added.

Safalaan stumbled and leaned against Edith, trying to balance on an injured leg.

‘Think I…’

He paused to spit out some blood, then cleared his throat.

'Think I lost myself there for a bit.’

Edith shook her head, watching the door as Veliaf was shoved out by Roavar. Ivan stumbled out behind him, briefly tripping over the unravelled strand of linen he clasped in his hand. The boy kneeled beside Veliaf and began stressfully tending to his bleeding arm.

‘Just your average bar fight…’ she replied. ‘I guess they don’t have many of those in Meiyerditch.’

‘Not that I recall,’ Safalaan said, laughing slightly and then coughing out the wheeze in his voice. ‘Didn’t realise how strong the man was until he was slamming a chair into my leg…’

‘I think we’re done for tonight.’ She looked towards Veliaf on the ground, grunting against the pain in his wounded arm. He tried to shrug Ivan away from his side, too stubborn to accept the aid offered by the young priest.

Edith whistled across to Ivan and he looked up.

‘We’ll head back to Paterdomus. It’ll be two hours if we keep pace. Can Veliaf walk?’

‘I think so,’ Ivan said, trying his best to hoist Veliaf from the ground with the uninjured arm slung across his shoulders.

‘Okay.’

She dropped her bag to the ground and rummaged about it. After a moment of searching, she pulled out a pouch of coins and a vial of liquid, then turned to Safalaan.

‘I’m going to pay Roavar for damages. Need to keep a good name in Canifis, and he really deserves a payment after…after that.’

She held up the vial.

‘You’re going to give this to Veliaf. Tell him it’s from me.’ Edith turned and headed towards the tavern.

‘What is it?’

‘Hangover cure!’ she shouted back at him, already several paces away.

Safalaan looked to her, perplexed by the suggestion.

‘But why do I-‘

‘Ivan, time to practise diplomacy,’ she ran through the entrance to the Hair of the Dog, grabbing Ivan’s arm as she passed and dragging him in tow. When Ivan was pulled from under him, Veliaf collapsed back to the ground, grunting irritably. He huffed out in frustration and slowly shuffled on his good side towards the tavern wall behind him.

Safalaan turned the vial over in his hand to look at it in the dull light emanating from the tavern windows. He tilted his head up and found Veliaf lying propped against the wall, wincing against a fresh wave of pain. He began pacing towards him.

Veliaf looked up weakly at Safalaan. He was still trying to catch his breath.

‘How’s the…shoulder…?’

Safalaan took a place sitting alongside Veliaf, mindful to keep some distance.

‘Been through worse.’

‘Not…difficult…to imagine…’

Safalaan rubbed his face wearily, trying to bury stray thoughts. Memories of the transformation that threatened to resurface. It was indeed much worse…mentally and physically. He could do without it this evening, it was more than he felt like dealing with at present.

His mind darted back to the vial he had been playing with, and he held it out to Veliaf.

‘Edith told me to give you this.’

‘What…what is…?’ Veliaf started, taking the vial and trying with difficulty to read the label through his daze.

Safalaan winced as he touched a bruise on his neck, slowly assessing the injuries Veliaf had made.

‘She ah, said hangover cure.’

‘Strength potion,’ Veliaf read aloud.

‘Suppose that’s the other name for it.’ said Safalaan.

Veliaf uncorked the vial and drank its contents. Its effects were fast acting, and some energy quickly returned to him.

‘That’s the stuff.’

He looked towards Safalaan.

‘Are you…?’

Safalaan shook his head.

‘It’s fine…half icyenic, half the human pain, right?’

‘Hah. Don’t get cocky, boy.’

‘I am older than – _Ow!_ ‘

Feeling a little more comfortable now, Veliaf turned away from Safalaan and rested his head against the wall of the tavern. He closed his eyes and exhaled, letting the strength potion do the rest of its work.

Safalaan moved to pick up the empty vial Veliaf had thrown at his head. Shifting back to see Veliaf had resumed his silent stand-off, Safalaan lowered his eyes, and let the previous conversation die away. After a moment had passed, he leaned back against the wall of the tavern and looked up at the moon through the foggy haze of Morytania.

Two former Myreque members, sitting considerable distance apart. In solitude. Years of sacrifice, and the cause amounted to this.

‘I can’t forgive you. Not right now.’

Safalaan jerked slightly from the break in silence, caught off-guard. He turned to Veliaf, anticipating further words.

The man’s face was severe, but calmer than before.

Just before Safalaan opened his mouth to say he understood - with the intention of leaving it there - Veliaf continued.

‘I hope you understand just how difficult things were. To see your allies struck down around you. So many lost in a single day, and years of fighting ended in one swift strike.’

Veliaf shifted the grip around the bandage on his arm.

‘To see a best friend die before you. Only to discover it was a fabrication, and that he had begun fighting for the other side.’

He turned to look Safalaan in the eye.

‘I accept your apology. But I just can’t bring myself to forgive you. Not while I’m still mourning our comrades.’

Safalaan just nodded. Most of his words would be worthless by now, so it was better to remain silent.

Edith and Ivan emerged out of the tavern door at that moment and walked over.

‘Happy days,’ Edith declared, clapping her hands together before continuing.

‘Roavar accepted myself and Ivan as partially welcome customers once again. The ugly mutts –meaning, the two of you – won’t be so lucky as to make it out of the tavern alive next time. His words, not mine.’

She picked up her bag and slung it across her back.

‘Let’s get this miserable band moving.’

With the fragility of a senior monk five months into pilgrimage, Veliaf stood up from the ground. He appreciated the strength granted from the potion. There was still some pain hanging about, but he was mobile.

He rolled a dull ache out of his left shoulder. Then he held out a hand to Safalaan.

After some hesitation, the former Myreque leader accepted the help to stand up. Veliaf didn’t give much more besides this, and simply walked off ahead of the group. He slowed down a little when he heard Ivan jogging behind, trying to catch up with him.

‘You’re good?’ Edith said, walking up beside Safalaan. She was shuffling her backpack into a more comfortable spot.

‘I don’t know,’ Safalaan replied, handing her the empty vial.

Edith reached behind to slip the vial inside her luggage. ‘Well, that’s better than before, when Veliaf wanted to kill you.’

He looked to Edith, exasperated.

She raised her hand, pinching thumb and finger a fraction apart.

‘Just a bit,’ she added, and gave Safalaan a brief smile to drive home the poor humour. He couldn’t help but smile back weakly.

They walked on, following Ivan and Veliaf.

**Author's Note:**

> 'The best cure for what ails you is to have some more of it.'  
> That was retrieved from Urban Dictionary of all places.


End file.
